Mavis has seen the face behind facebook this week. Well, not the face, but the name, or a name, a nice name, a name of a real person who works at Facebook. It's funny I should mention names, and Facebook, because this weeks story pretty much revolves around those elements, names and Facebook and Facebook names.
I'll explain*.
For those of you who didn't notice, last Wednesday night only a few hours after I'd uploaded your photos and written the frankly excellent blog the precedes this one, this Facebook page was suddenly, and callously, disabled. It was an upsetting time, I was separated from you, my friends, I had no way of asking how you were, what shoes you were wearing, or if you remembered to shut the fridge door. Sleep was lost and tears were shed.
Mavis is one of the practical people, so I took it on the chin, let the spilled milk be licked up by the cat, and started this page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Preston-United-Kingdom/Wheres-Mavis/141724310317?ref=ts (add it now by the way, y'know, just in case, I can't go to bed not knowing about your fridge door again, it's too much).
Touchingly, a bunch of you saw my plight and did all you could to help. In 6 days, over 700 of you added the page, you wanted to tell me about your fridge doors, this set my mind at ease a little, and again, I thank you.
But as the evidence before you demonstrates, and the introduction to this blog suggests, that was not the end of the saga, so sit a little while longer and I shall reveal.
The Beats of Rage boys, and our own DJ Jammie, made a suggestion, the same suggestion, at separate times. "Talk to Facebook," they said, "they're reasonable people, send them a message."
So we did...
Mavis: Facebook... what gives? I miss my friends.
Facebook: Mavis? Is that really you? Is this really your profile?
M: Yeah mate, any chance I can keep using it?
F: Go on, as it's you, but you gotta tell us your real name, we're tired of calling you Where's, feels a little impersonal, and that apostrophe drives us nuts in the office, it's led to punch ups, real genuine punch ups, one guy nearly lost an eye.
M: Aw man, I never thought, that is one infuriating apostrophe, I can totally understand. My name's Mavis, Mavis Preston.
F: Any relation to Britney Spears' kid? Do you know Britney? Can we meet Britney? She's got this amazing bottom you see, like a football sized ping pong ball covered in marzipan. Mmm, giant marzipan bum...
M: That's not how names work, and you're being a little creepy now to be honest.
F: Ha, yeah, erm, ha ha, yeah, your account is working again now Mavis. I've got to go, sorry for, erm, yeah, sorry. See you around. Bye.
Brilliant, who says writing dialogue is hard. Tarantino has nothing on me, Royale with Cheese my left testicle.
It's good to be back, what have you been up to, what's been going on in your life this week? How's that rash?
Did you close the fridge door?
x
(*You're my Lois Lane.)
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